


every day you’re here, I’m healing

by beanharry



Series: Wilted roses [3]
Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, but our boy rafa is a Mess rip, but still.... this shouldn't be the Happiest fic, physical health issues, with a fair amount of fluff bc they love each other very much, with a hint of mental health issues as well but nothing specific or explicit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-20 11:04:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13716336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanharry/pseuds/beanharry
Summary: Most of the time life depends on the smallest, stupidest things.Like a little bone in the foot of a boy who dreamed of something big.[Sequel to my fic that deals with the events of Rafa's AO 2018 retirement.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there!
> 
> I have been working on this since I finished the last one and although it's not yet completed, at least I have a vague outline in my head haha. 
> 
> This is (supposed to be) a more detailed sequel of "can you see the remnants of your name" and I intended to make it extra Dramatic because I'm like that. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> I guess it can be separated from canon events bc we won't ever know how much and what Rafa goes through every day in real life, so this can be viewed as a Very Sad AU or sg lmao even though it is in canon setting. 
> 
> The story involves physical injuries - or more like a disability, at this point, I think that's a more appropriate term for it rip.  
> Also, I think everyone who knows Rafa considered at least once before that he might deal with some mental health issues (like anxiety, possible OCD or in this story: sg akin to depression) so based on that, and keeping in mind that this is of course FICTION, there are several mentions of similar things. However, it's mainly just Rafa being messed up in general and nothing specific or detailed, so that's the reason I'm not tagging it as such. Just a heads up to anyone who is sensitive to this kind of stuff. 
> 
> Anyways, it's not all dark!! Bc they are in love! And they got each other's back. 
> 
> I have no idea how will I pace the chapters, so bear with me. 
> 
> Again, this is a piece of FICTION and every mistake is my own.  
> Enjoy! xx

It should have gotten easier, as the years go by.

They both accepted it - it’s something that made up their life, after all.

 

During the night he barely sleeps - a little over an hour after he manages to close his eyes, he is woken by Rafa tossing and turning around, restless.

When Roger’s eyes get used to seeing in the darkness, he is greeted by the sight of the younger man lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, fists clenched around the pristine white sheets. His teeth are biting sharply into his full lips, and there is a distant look on his face but Roger knows it only means Rafa is concentrating hard on not making any noise lest he wakes him up.

When he lifts the sheets to scoot closer, Rafa’s head immediately turns towards him on the pillow, gaze full of guilt as he quickly opens his mouth - to apologise, Roger knows - so he cuts him off by cupping his face, thumb gently grazing over Rafa’s cheekbone.

“Hey, it’s okay. I wasn’t really sleeping.” he was, but the never subsiding worry made it miserable anyway. It’s better now that they are both awake - at least they can be miserable together. They are very good at that, with years of practice and everything.

 

He knows Rafa must be itching to turn the light on, the darkness bothering him even more at times like this. It’s gotten manageable when he shares a bed with Roger - he feels safe with him, Rafa admits quietly one night - but sometimes the urge resurfaces - and although Rafa’s self-control is immense, it’s still another source of anxiety Roger won’t let him suffer. He quickly reaches over behind himself to find the switch. The sudden warm light enveloping the room feels so sharp he has to squint a little.

Despite his words, Rafa looks very far from relieved - he continues biting his lip so Roger presses his thumb over it, freeing it from his teeth. He touches Rafa’s mouth slowly, before leaning in and giving him a soft kiss. Rafa sighs, relaxing visibly, but still.

The involuntary tension stringing his body tight persists. There is no possible way to get rid of it tonight.

 

“How bad is it?” Roger asks in a whisper, fingers lightly tracing the lines of the younger man’s slightly pink cheek. Rafa, so typically of him, shrugs with one shoulder, mouth tightening reluctantly.

“Was worse. But is annoying and I’m very tired,” he sighs and closes his eyes, “Continue, please.” he demands sweetly, leaning into Roger’s caress. Rafa’s English has always been more clipped when he was exhausted, accent heavier. He hums a little as Roger combs his fingers through his hair, following the shape of his strong neck, down to his shoulders.

Roger knows that the pain must be more than annoying - if that was the case, Rafa wouldn’t be awake right now. He also knows that it’s not only his recent thigh injury bothering him, that it’s only an additional bonus. The main problem is the ever consistent ache in his knees - it became an integral part of Rafa’s life many years ago.

 

It’s only getting worse as time goes on and there is nothing they can do about it.

 

Roger’s eyes feel heavy with the lack of sleep as he continues mapping the younger man’s body. He runs his hand down along Rafa’s side, feeling the smooth skin almost burning up under his fingertips. He rests his palm in the curve of his hip and feels the faint tremble that goes through his body. When he glances up, Rafa smiles at him slightly and it’s an expression Roger is very familiar with - it’s simultaneously tender, wistful and absolutely heart breaking.

It’s Rafa looking at him with such deep, unmasked sorrow - that even though Roger has seen it on more occasion than he can count - it still shakes him to the very core.

He doesn’t break eye contact as he takes Rafa’s hand gently and places a lingering kiss on his outstretched palm, in apology, comfort, reassurance - maybe all of these at once, he doesn’t know.

 

_I understand and I love you even more for it._

_I love you._

 

 

No, it doesn’t get easier.

 

 

*

 

 

The next morning, Roger feels like a bus had run him over.

 

He wakes up first, blinking slowly at the too white ceiling and feeling a bit disorientated. God, he is exhausted. He turns his head to the side, frowning a little at the brightness already shining through soft linen.

Rafa has his back turned towards him, sharp shoulder blades and soft bronze curves, the sheets covering his legs are a striking contrast compared to his sun kissed skin. His breath is shallow and a bit rapid, but Roger isn’t surprised. Hell, he is grateful Rafa got to sleep at all, no matter how bad and fitful it is.

He sighs quietly, rubbing his hands over his tired eyes and willing himself to get up and out of bed. There is no way he won’t accompany Rafa to his scan but he also needs to practice before his match.

Shit, he has a match.

He stifles a groan and drops his hands back down to the mattress in disbelief, forgetting himself for a moment but it’s enough to cause Rafa to jump a little, letting out a quiet whimper of confusion or discomfort, Roger is not sure. He curses quietly to himself - waking Rafa was the last thing he wanted to do. Still, there is nothing he can do about it now as Rafa struggles to turn around, getting tangled in the sheets and making his task harder on his already sore legs. He lets out a sad little noise as he finally rolls over to his other side - barely awake - and Roger immediately slides closer, hand coming up to touch Rafa’s face in an attempt to soothe him.

 

“Raf… hey. It’s alright. Stop moving around so much, you will make it worse.” he lets go of his cheek after giving him a reassuring caress, sitting up to get the twisted material sorted out so Rafa will stop being this startled. He tries to be as gentle as possible, as ha manoeuvres his legs out of the way and even though Rafa still lets out small distressed sounds, he fortunately doesn’t try to fight Roger, or move again.

After it’s all sorted out Roger leans back up, sitting at the foot of the bed and feeling tired as hell, and when he looks over his chest contracts at the sight of his boy.

Rafa lies perfectly still with his eyes closed, breathing heavily. Droplets of perspiration gather at his temple, shining in the early morning light like dew.

There is no other sound in the room and his rapid pants appear piercing in the thick silence.

Roger - as much as he wants to - doesn’t try to touch him again, at least for now. Instead, he quietly addresses Rafa, trying to measure his mood. When Rafa only whimpers some more and reaches out blindly towards him, Roger breathes out a sigh of relief, and instantly grabs his hand tightly between his.

“Shh, I’m here.” he presses butterfly kisses over his knuckles while his other hand reaches up to stroke the damp curls out of Rafa’s face.

“Rogi... painkillers, please.” he whispers, still without opening his eyes.

“Alright, baby. Let me get them, I will be right back.” his hand lingers on Rafa’s face for a moment before he slides out of the soft bed, padding through the room towards the bathroom where every one of Rafa’s medication is laid out. It takes him some time to find the right bottle - even though he encounters with it on daily basis - because most of them look exactly the same from the outside, neat plastic.

 

On his way back to the bedroom he grabs a mini water bottle from the coffee table that had been left there unopened the night before. He checks the time on his - likewise abandoned - Rolex, before going back to Rafa.

He finds the younger man just as he left him - only now he has his eyes open and he even lifts his head a little to look at Roger approaching. He still looks way too anguished for Roger’s liking but at least he is more alert now. He goes around the bed to Rafa’s side, even though that he is facing the other way, because he knows Rafa will eventually have to move and sit up to take the medication.

When Roger sits down beside him and looks around the room, he contemplates drawing the heavy blackout curtains closed - the room is all too bright for a morning like this. His attention shifts back to Rafa a second later, reaching out to touch his side lightly.

“Come on, I’ve got you.” his voice is calm, gentle, knowing how to work the situation as he has done it countless times before. Rafa tenses before Roger hears - and feels - him sigh.

With his back still turned to Roger he pushes himself up, and then falls back into the piled up pillows, body trembling when the movement pulls the muscles in his injured thigh.

Roger waits quietly as Rafa composes himself, regulates his breathing. A couple of silent minutes after he swallowed the pills and drank his water, he finally looks at Roger with a little pout, asking for a kiss Roger won’t ever deny him. He lightly touches Rafa’s neck, thumb caressing his strong jawline before leaning in to kiss him tenderly, with barely any pressure.

Even after all these years, kissing this wonderful man still makes his heart pound faster, those soft lips under his still feel like a privilege. Not for the first time he wonders how did he get so lucky.

 

He combs Rafa’s hair back when the younger man smiles at him half-heartedly, more for Roger’s benefit than his own.

“Is okay. Stop looking so sad. You have a match to play today and you need to be focused,” he taps his fingers to his temple for emphasis, arm bumping into Roger’s “You cannot play good match if you not focused. And I want to see that trophy again so…” he shrugs a little, feigning nonchalance “that mean you have to win, no?”

Roger bows his head down and chuckles a little bit more roughly than he intended. He is ridiculous. 

He feels Rafa’s hand cradling his face so he looks back up, meeting the younger man’s steady gaze.

“I’m serious, Roger. I not saying this don’t hurt, because I wanted to win. I feel like I could win. But if I cannot play, you have to, no? You just have to concentrate on the important things. This,” he gesticulates wildly towards his legs ”is not something you can change. And is no use worrying about it before an important match.” he shrugs again, letting his hand drop as he leans back, closing his eyes for a moment on an exhale.

Roger blinks a few times, trying to get a grip on his emotions - he always struggled with that and sleep deprivation isn’t helping him right now. He doesn’t want to start an argument in the middle of everything.

He speaks when Rafa meets his eyes again.

“You know it’s not that easy, Raf. I hate seeing you like this. I hate every minute of this just as much as you do and I… “ he takes a deep breath, trying to collect himself. “It’s hard for me to think about anything else, you know? It’s really fucking hard.”

Rafa looks away, face coloured with guilt and Roger sighs. Here they go again.

“I know, Rogi, I’m sorry. I just feel frustrated, no? And I don’t want you to be sad when you should be winning. You should be happy that you are able to be in that position. For me, is…“ he shrugs again, unable to finish the sentence.

Roger wants to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation - after all these years spent together and Rafa still doesn’t _get it_. His voice involuntary raises in volume when he speaks next, and Rafa winces slightly.

“I don’t care about the tournament Rafa. I couldn’t care less, okay?,“ he sighs, trying to calm down enough to be reasonable about this conversation “Sure, it would be nice to win another slam, another final, I never said it otherwise or denied that. But it doesn’t matter when I see you like this, you know? It just doesn’t, and I rather lose every Grand Slam final from now on if that meant I could have you happy,” it actually scares Roger how serious he is about this,

“Listen, if you decided to retire tomorrow, I wouldn’t hesitate for a moment before doing the same and you know why? Because who cares about winning, titles, and all that stuff when I have you already, you know?” he chuckles a little to himself, shaking his head “This is all kind of insane and god, I don’t even understand it myself but without you… it doesn’t matter. I think it hasn’t mattered for some time now.”

 

To be fair, he never actually thought about this before.

What he knows is that for a while now, he has felt it building up within him, a slowly burning process during the last months. It might have been his injury, or Rafa’s newfound injury that made him realise things. Whatever it was, it made him stop and think about his life, about what he really wants. His comeback on tour had been great - more than great, it had been phenomenal, something he won’t ever forget - winning again felt like walking on air. Nothing comes quite close to that feeling, that emotion. And still, somewhere deep inside him he felt like wanting, _needing_ something more. Something that even winning can’t satisfy.

Life with Rafa, away from tennis.

During their respective injuries in 2016, they had the chance to spend more time together than they ever had before, during their careers. Their relationship never extended further than stolen weekends or couple of days alone together outside of tour, they never had the luxury. Getting a taste of properly living with Rafa, experiencing a deeper intimacy than ever before made Roger desperate for more. It made him imagine a life with the two of them, even though he knew it was something unattainable, at least for now.

During last year, he realised something that took him by such surprise that the shock of it felt like it could knock him to the ground: he loves winning, and he loves tennis.

But he came to love his Mallorcan boy more than any of that.

 

Now, Rafa is shocked into silence as well, a frown slowly forming between his eyebrows, mouth slightly open. Roger wants to slap himself. Oh god, Rafa probably thinks he has lost his mind.

When he finally speaks, his expression is soft, open.

“You really feel that way, Rogi?” he murmurs, one hand reaching out to entwine with Roger’s. It makes him settle down a little, panic subduing. He squeezes Rafa’s soft yet calloused palm before he lifts gaze to meet his dark, lovely eyes. He won’t lie about this.

“Yeah. I do.” actually, he never felt more sure about anything “I know it’s weird but, -”

A second later his arms are full of heavy muscles and long limbs, Rafa engulfing him in a tight embrace, holding on. He is shaking ever so slightly, strained muscles making his body tremble but he doesn’t seem to care. Roger’s hands reach out on instinct, wind up in his hair and caress his strong back. He feels Rafa’s breath against his collarbone, every puff of air sending shivers down his spine as he places a lingering kiss on the top of Rafa’s messy hair, gently rocking them back and forth.

“I love you so much, you know? It makes me crazy. You make me crazy.”

Rafa pulls away, smiling genuinely now.

“Sí, I can see that. Not caring about tennis, huh? You really went crazy Rogelio. But I love you too, no? No matter how crazy you get.”

“That’s very generous of you, thank you.”

Rafa grins and shrugs a little, leaning up to give him a quick kiss. Roger feels lightheaded with relief - he hates to ruin the mood but unfortunately he has to.

“Come on champ, let’s get dressed. We have to be at the hospital in over an hour.”

Rafa sighs and accepts Roger’s extended hands which pull him to his feet.

When he winces and sways slightly, Roger is there to steady him.

 

Always.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! :)
> 
> Sorry this is short and messy bc my plans regarding how I wanted this to play out changed quite a lot and so I just wanted to post this chapter before I overthink it too much rip.  
> This and the second part of this is going to be more of a Timeline thing with snippets here and there.
> 
> NOTE: As I'm quite a new fan of Rafa and I haven't had the chance to read his book yet, all of this is based on me spending hours on google trying to put the picture together. I apologise in advance because I'm sure there are many incorrect things but what can ya do, right. Also, this is still fiction and none of this happened haha.
> 
> Enjoy! x

 

 

_"He's been affected by an injury to his foot since 2005. He has to learn how to live with it and so far he has managed for two years." Toni Nadal_

 

It all begins in 2005.

It starts as nothing more serious than an injury he obtains during the Madrid Masters. It’s only later, when it doesn’t seem to get better, is when they discover a bone defect in his foot that was supposed to heal a very long time ago - when he was a child. If he thinks about, Rafa always had a vague discomfort in that area but it wasn’t anything he seriously considered before. Not until now.

He tries to get back into routine, to practice on the level he knows he is capable of but it’s no use. The pain gradually gets more unbearable and Rafa gets more worried.

With his career barely established, he has to face the unthinkable at age 19 - the possibility that he might never have one. Nobody seems to offer any solution, some people are already patting his shoulder and telling him to get over it. They tell him there are other things in life outside of this sport, that he is young and he has plenty of time to figure it all out. Every doctor he visits tells him that there is nothing they can do, that it’s something he will have to learn to live with.

And that he has to quit tennis.

There are two options presented for Rafa: he either gives up his dream in order to not destroy his leg completely, or he chases the quickly fading chance of being successful, gets used to the pain while simultaneously risking his health.

Rafa rages against it. He cries, he yells at Toni, he argues with his parents because they don’t understand.

He is nothing without tennis.

 

(He doesn’t like to think about those days, he tells Roger in the future, because those days were painful. Not just physically, no no, but mentally. It was a tough decision for a teenager to make. His dream or his life.

Aren’t they the same anyway?)

 

After a while, everyone seems to realise that Rafa won’t accept the possibility of giving this up right at the start. So, doing what every parent would do upon seeing their child so miserable, his father turns every stone to find a solution. Relief comes when they discover a leeway - with specially designed shoes, they might make it easier for Rafa to play tennis. Not pain free. But they can ease some of it, lessen it enough that at least he can try and play on clay. Rafa gets so happy and enthusiastic that he instantly agrees to it, testing and perfecting the shoes for long months.

The pain remains. But it was part of the deal and he accepts it. It’s not that bad, anyway. He shrugs his shoulders, holds his head high and ignores it. Anything to play tennis, anything to have a shot at being competitive.

With this decision made, he is happy, his family and his team are happy.

 

Nobody knows the weight of the prize Rafa will eventually have to pay for this dream.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

_“This is nothing new and really serious. It's something he lives with. It's definitely not career-threatening." Benito Perez Barbadillo_

 

 

In the following two years Rafa finds it hard to master his game on surfaces other than clay. He is suffering a little with his foot but it’s not that bad to start with - and so he is even more determined to be competitive on hard courts. He has to be careful though and he has to adjust his training accordingly (they tell him that he can’t run anymore which makes him deflate for a while) but it’s only a change in rhythm and he gets accustomed to it soon enough. During these two years he wins the French Open two more times. This is something that seemed so far away and out of reach - impossible - back in 2005, when his dream almost came crashing down on him. But here he is. He did it.

 

Unfortunately, because life is still life, everything has a prize.

The pain in his left ankle doesn’t go away, but it doesn’t get worse either during the following years of him wearing the specially designed shoes. It’s manageable - not pleasant, of course, but it’s only a dull ache he can shut out and not concentrate on while he practices and plays. 

And oh, does he play. As his doctor predicted, clay is _the_ surface for him. It’s not his favourite, no, if he had to choose he would still play on grass. But it’s the easiest on him, allowing him to win with the least amount of pain. He becomes famous as a clay court player, something he doesn’t like very much but accepts nevertheless. He wins important titles and it’s something he appreciates, something he is grateful for.

When he starts experiencing piercing pain in his left knee he doesn’t worry too much. It will go away with rest; his doctor tells him, it’s just the result of overuse, nothing serious; and Rafa believes him.

 

Only, that it doesn’t go away.

 

It gets worse as the months pass by and on top of everything else, his right knee starts to throb as well - it’s nothing compared to his other leg but it’s there, frustrating beyond words especially when he loses the Wimbledon final.

By the time the 2007 US Open rolls around, he is in so much pain that at first he doubts he will be able to make it. There is no other choice but to do a scan, trying to find the root of the problem. However, when the results arrive everything gets a little bleaker. They discover that the tendon in his knee is inflamed and it’s blocking free movement of his leg. Still, he goes out on court to try. He wins the first but loses the second set and suffers through the third. After that he requests a bandage for his knees and in the end, he wins. In pain, but he does it and that’s what matters to him. In the locker room - while he is sitting on the bench and watches his physio examining his knees - he vows to himself that he will endure it as long as he gets to play, to win. He is determined to fight it - he can overcome the pain. He proved that to himself today. 

Even after he crashes out of the tournament they don’t pay much mind to it. They do the treatments, they try to be optimistic. After a month long break he reaches the semi-finals in Shanghai but the pain is there. Nobody says what they really think - that this is not a common problem for a 21 years old to have. The unspoken words hang heavily in the air like humidity before a storm. They turn their heads the other way and ignore it - ignore it and silently hope that it doesn’t get worse.

 

It does.

 

During 2008, the treatments become permanent - along with the painkillers he starts to take on a regular basis. However, everyone is focused on making progress, everyone has the number one ranking prioritized. They still don’t talk about it or investigate the issue further, and Rafa does his best to show his strength and determination to his team, his resolution to keep winning, to keep playing is first and foremost on his mind.

His grit is rewarded when he becomes Wimbledon champion, everything he dreamed about as a child. He reaches the number one ranking for the first time. He is on the top of the world and he gets even more determined to get through the pain. It’s possible, he did it again. It can’t stop him now.

The first time they have to acknowledge that there is, in fact, a serious problem, comes during Paris. Rafa wakes up with a pain so sharp in his right knee that tears leak from his eyes - it takes him a while to get out of bed and find his uncle and Maymo.

He is informed that his right knee’s tendon is inflamed, too. His left leg had been more or less manageable these days, the pain reduced to a constant dull ache he now tries to ignore.

“It was bound to happen,” his doctor tells him. “With the constant injuries of the left leg, the right knee had been put out to more strain and stress. Naturally, while trying to preserve the health of the left tendons, trauma extended to the other leg, especially with the amount of use it had been exposed to during the year. Without proper rest and treatment, it will only get worse.”

Rafa feels shocked and scared upon hearing this news and he knows his team is worried too, so they decide to pull out of the tournament the next day. When the pain doesn’t lessen during the course of the following mornings either, they decide to withdraw for the rest of the season.

When they find out the root of the problem, it’s already too late. In retrospect, they should have known, they should have anticipated it or at least given it some thought in the previous years, but for some reason they missed it completely and so it comes unexpectedly, catching them off guard.

They discover that the angle of Rafa’s designed shoes are the reason behind his tendon injuries. The unnatural stress it puts on his knees is slowly destroying them, but without the shoes his ankle would give out.

Again, there isn’t much of a choice to make. Rafa wills himself to move past this, to accept it and do the only thing he knows:

 

Keep on playing until he can.

 

 

*

 

 

_End of 2008_

They manage to get away for a couple of days before the season starts.

Roger flies out to Mallorca straight after his Masters Cup round two defeat. Rafa is already there - has been since Paris.

He comes and picks him up at the airport, taking the long road that runs up the hill next to the sea. Roger is looking outside the window, watching the waves crashing violently yet with a somewhat calm intensity against the rocky slopes below. Every once in a while he throws a glance at Rafa, taking in his serious expression and his fists gripping the steering wheel tightly. His posture is a little hunched over and there is a small frown between his eyebrows as he focuses on the road before them - even though he has had his license for some time now, he is not the best driver and they are both perfectly aware of that. Roger looks back out the window but he doesn’t relax completely until they are out of the car, standing safely on the gravel of the driveway.

The first few days pass in a quick blur.

They stay up late and have dinner under the stars. They spend long hours stretched out on the beach, the sand hot and rough beneath their bodies when they roll around first laughing then kissing breathlessly. On one occasion, they end up walking around the city aimlessly, making their way through street after street while talking about everything from architecture to house prizes and local traditions. Rafa is as animated and enthusiastic beside him as ever, lips stretched wide and gorgeous. Roger feels so full of happiness that he is almost afraid it will somehow flow out of him - getting lost and soaked up in the sand just like rain.

And so, he hangs onto it just as tightly as he would to his racket during a match. He is not letting this go.

 

The first time it happens, it’s not even that bad. But it’s out of nowhere and Roger can’t even grasp the enormity of it just then, can’t make sense of it only until much later on.

 

The day starts just like every other before: Roger wakes up to Rafa smiling softly beside him, the sun barely above the horizon. They always get up early - even on their days off they can’t afford staying in bed all day and even if they could, their body clock would wake them up anyway.

They kiss gently as the sun rises on the sky, setting the room on a soft pink and golden fire. He traces the shapes and contours of Rafa’s face, lightly scrapping his nails along his cheekbones and dipping his thumb into the dimples at the corner of his mouth. In response, Rafa’s smile shines brighter than the sun outside ever could, and Roger is in love.

After breakfast Rafa has to go to practice in the local club, as he does almost every day. Roger has to make a few phone calls anyway, and so they kiss chastely before Rafa heads out and he goes back inside. He talks to Tony and he talks to Nike and after all his business is said and done he occupies himself with watching an old tennis match, feeling content and lazy. Time passes quickly but way before he expects it, Roger hears the front door slamming shut and then the eerie quiet that follows it. He knows Rafa usually stays 3-4 hours on the practice court, going all out every time. He looks at the clock on the wall above the TV and frowns when it confirms the two hours’ mark of Rafa’s departure. Roger shifts on the couch, massaging his numb legs a little as he stands up slowly, listening to any noise that might indicate he is not alone anymore.

“Hey, Raf? I hope it’s you and I’m not getting kidnapped in your house right now.” he jokes and makes his way to the hall, finding it empty apart from the sunlight reflecting back from the bright white walls, blinding him slightly. He feels his chest contract a little, an unwelcome dread slowly spreading through his body, filling in the spaces between his bones.  

“Rafa?” he calls out one more time, but the house stays silent. He quickly heads up the stairs, going straight to the bedroom. When he steps inside, he doesn’t see Rafa anywhere so he goes and checks the bathroom that opens from the other end of the room. He sighs heavily when he finds him there, standing in front of the mirror. The relief doesn’t last long when he notices Rafa’s white knuckles around the edge of the sink, his wet gear hanging loosely from his body, just like his long hair. Their is sweat sliding down from his temples and getting lost in the dip of his neck.

He looks wild and fragile all at once.

He looks young.

“Raf, hey. Are you…” he hesitates for a second, at loss of what to say. Roger feels both worried and confused upon seeing him like this “Are you okay? Why did you come home so early?”

Rafa finally looks at him, and Roger knows he will never forget the expression on his face - it’s like looking at a whirlpool. He’s seen Rafa being emotional a thousand times but he’s never seen him looking quite like this before. The younger man shakes his head once abruptly, the motion making his matted hair fly around his face, masking his expression. When he speaks Roger can hear his voice trembling.

“I hate it. I can’t… I cannot do it.” before Roger can ask what’s he talking about, Rafa continues in his broken English, heavy accent making every word almost indecipherable. “I say to Toni, no? Is there point? When all I am is this. I sitting home for weeks now, many weeks, no? I want to go and do the practice but… “he laughs wetly and trails of, looking back at Roger. His eyes are glistening “I cannot do it, Rogi”

“Oh.”

For long moments Roger doesn’t know how to respond. He stares at Rafa carefully, trying to come up with something clever to say. When he catches a glimpse of Rafa's tear streaked cheeks he stops thinking and instinctively takes a careful step towards him.

“Hey, come here. It’s okay.”

The younger man wobbles slightly, looking like he might collapse and Roger hastily crosses the room and takes him into his arms. Rafa immediately slumps against his chest and starts crying silently, the force of it making his whole body shake violently. Roger holds the younger man's quivering form tightly, all the while hoping it will be enough. He has no idea what’s happening or why, and the only explanation he can come up with is the frustration caused by Rafa having to withdrew from a couple of tournaments. Which, in all honesty, Roger can understand. He kisses the younger man's face all over while murmuring soothing nonsense into his ear and waiting for him to calm down.

After a while - after Rafa pulls away and wipes his hands messily over his face, still sniffing a little - Roger combs his hair back from his face and can’t help feeling a little unsettled. He doesn’t know what to make of the situation. Rafa never cried in front of him before. Not like this.

“Do you feel better?” he finally asks and Rafa only nods, avoiding eye contact. Roger is not having it. “What happened, Rafa? I’ve never seen you like this and honestly, it scared me a bit, you know? Just talk to me.”

Rafa sighs and steps away, wrapping his arms around himself.

“I don’t want to. I’m sorry, Rogi I just… I want a little peace now, no? Can we have lunch and watch TV, please?” he pleads with his dark eyes boring into his, asking for things Roger doesn't understand and has no idea how to give. Part of him wants to argue, wants to push the issue further but for some reason the desperate edge in Rafa’s voice make him pause and hesitate.

“Yeah, alright. It’s fine, we can finish the match I’ve been watching earlier - “ he starts but Rafa suddenly cuts him off loudly.

“No! No. I have an idea. We can go to beach instead, no? Is a very nice day for beach. I want to work on my… how do you say it?” he gesticulates towards his chest. Roger looks at him dumbly, feeling lost.

“Your tan?”

Rafa nods enthusiastically before turning his back to Roger and heading towards the bedroom.

“Yes, exactly! I need to work on my tan. Vamos, Rogi.”

He stands there for a few more minutes, trying to make sense of what just happened. It was all too fast and he feels almost dizzy trying to wrap his mind around it. In the end, he follows Rafa down the stairs but he can’t get rid of the image of him standing there, looking absolutely helpless and heartbroken.

 

At night, he stares at the ceiling for a long time while Rafa sleeps soundly beside him, peaceful.

 

 

*

 

_“It’s not a chronic problem, no? No, no, I can recover for sure.” Rafael Nadal_

 

 

Rafa doesn’t get better for the Australian Open in 2009, not in the strict sense. Yes, he is in top form, yes he wins, and yes, his knees don’t hurt him that much. But by that time everything stands a bit on its head for him. 

His scale of measuring pain changes greatly. With every passing day he gets more and more used to it. He gets injections more frequently, he takes stronger painkillers. His normal starts to shift.

 

When his knee flares up again and he loses Rotterdam to Andy, it’s not a surprise but it’s still a strong blow that he struggles to deal with. Afterwards, as per usual, everyone asks about his injury, and Rafa wants to run out of the room, wants to scream and hide and yell ‘shut up’. Instead, he respectfully tells the press what he always does: he does not want to talk about it.

They are working extra hard to get him back in shape in the following weeks, and so he manages to win at Davis Cup and Indian Wells. He tries to play the clay season without additional support to his knees and the winning streak only comes to a halt when he loses Roland Garros in the fourth round - for the first time during his career.  

It does not hit him that hard, just then (many years later, when he loses it for the second time it feels suffocating and final) because he loves the tournament and he loves winning there but he is way more worried about the upcoming Wimbledon and his title there to defend. And his anxiety is not without a reason - the inflammation in his knees has gotten more serious again. In fact, it’s way worse than ever before. Still, he keeps his poker face to the public, not letting more on than strictly necessary. When they decide to announce his withdrawal from Queens he stays in his room for hours, refusing to talk to anyone.

Pulling out of Wimbledon is something expected after that. By that time, he has oedemas in both of his knees and he knows there is no chance he could ever walk out there and play like that. No chance at all.  He loses his number one ranking to Roger but he can cope with that.

He takes the rest of the month off and then July as well, to try and rest enough.

 

In the end, it’s just not meant to be.

 

In Montreal, he loses his second place to Andy, sliding as far down as he’s only ever been at the start of his career. On top of everything, he obtains an abdominal injury that he carries into Cincinnati and the US Open and makes his semi-final match even the more difficult. He doesn’t like to talk about his injuries - it’s something most people around him accepts and respects. It does get worse with time, and he develops a tendency of snapping at anyone who brings it up. He’s been suffering from injuries since quite a young age and he doesn’t want to be reminded of that constantly, thank you very much - and so he only tells about it to the press after his loss against del Potro.

His knees are more pain free but it’s the end of a season of him constantly battling with his body. He is not in his top form, his practices and schedule are all over the place. He is someone who relies on consistency but he gets anything but that - it makes his life just a little bit harder.

He loses all three of his matches in straight sets during the World Tour Finals, but he feels nothing apart from tiredness. Sure, he is disappointed but the exhaustion he feels in his very bones overrule that emotion. 

 

He is just tired.


End file.
